


Coffee, Tea, and Me?

by IreneADonovan



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, BAMF Azazel, BAMF Charles, BAMF Erik, BAMF Logan, BAMF Raven, BAMF Sharon Xavier, Blow Jobs, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Owns a Bookstore, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles in a Wheelchair, Earlobes, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Logan is the Pastry Chef, M/M, Nipple Play, Raven and Azazel Own a Bakery/Café, Read my 3rd drabble collection if you don't believe she can be a BAMF, erik is a writer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 22:04:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11723496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan
Summary: Erik is a successful writer who moves to the desert because he's tired of shovelling snow. He begins frequenting a bookstore near his new home and falls in love with a great many things about it, including the owner.This starts out really fluffy, but will have angst later on...





	1. First Meeting

Erik Lehnsherr loved the desert. It was mid-January, and he was walking down the street in a t-shirt. A short-sleeved t-shirt. The temperature was in the seventies. The seventies! True, it got a bit brisk at night, but he had a denim jacket rolled up in his backpack for that.

He'd left New York just a few weeks ago, and he really wasn't missing it. Yes, Tucson was like a sleepy small town in comparison, but the place had its charms.

He'd rented a house about two miles east of the university and a few blocks from one of the main roads. And best of all, it was just a few minutes walk from his new favorite haunt, Xavier's Used Entertainment. He would have loved it for the books and movies and music alone, but he loved it even more for the coffee, the pastries, and the free wi-fi. Oh, and the armchairs. He couldn't forget the armchairs.

Erik was a writer, a novelist who wrote spy thrillers that did well enough to allow him to move two-thirds of the way across the country because he was sick of shovelling snow. It was a solitary pursuit, and mostly that suited him, but a part of having a feel for writing character and dialogue was people-watching. And Xavier's was a great place to people-watch.

His favorite spot in the front window was available, so he set his backpack and laptop case on the table and went to the little food counter for his coffee and danish.

To his surprise, the usual cashier, Ororo, was nowhere in sight. In her place was a devastatingly attractive man in a wheelchair. His hair was thick and wavy and in need of a trim, a rich chestnut brown with amber and russet highlights. He had what Erik's mama called “high color,” skin so fair and translucent that his cheeks and lips appeared painted on with rouge. A dusting of tawny freckles across his cheeks and down his throat. And eyes as blue as a summer sky.

“Can I help you?” His voice was a warm baritone; his accent, unexpectedly English.

Erik realized he was staring, and he hurried the rest of the way to the counter. “Coffee and a raspberry danish,” he said. “Your phone number,” was what he wanted to say.

The man retrieved a blue ceramic mug and set it on the counter. “I'm afraid we're out of raspberry danish, but if you're willing to wait a few minutes, someone from the bakery will bring more.”

“Don't bother on my account.”

“No bother,” the man said. “You're not the only one who likes them.”

“If you're sure.” _If you're sure I can't take you back to my place and have my way with you._

Erik started to pull out his wallet, but the man waved it away. “On the house, for the inconvenience.”

Normally Erik would have argued. He wasn't one to accept charity of any sort. But he'd accept anything as long as the man kept those azure eyes focused on him. Then an unwelcome thought occurred to him. “You won't get in trouble, will you?”

The man chuckled. “The owner would never fire me.”

Erik picked up his mug and walked to the end of the counter to get his coffee. He knew the choices by heart: House Blend, House Decaf, Flavored Coffee of the Day (hazelnut today). Normally he liked his coffee plain and black and strong, but today he selected the hazelnut and added a splash of milk.

Erik returned to his table and began to set up his laptop, plugging it and his phone into the outlet. He took a minute to check his e-mail. A note from his agent, Angel, reminding him of the paperback release of Cuban Sun. Assorted stuff he could ignore. Two ads.

He opened his wordprocessing program, skimmed over the last couple of pages, getting back in the groove of the story. He sipped his coffee and began to type.

Things were flowing well enough that he only just noticed the florid-faced man that walked into the store, a large bakery box in his hands. He walked over to the coffee counter, slapped the box down, and left as abruptly as he'd arrived.

The man behind the counter called a thank you to the other man's back then opened the box and began unloading pastries into the display. He set Erik's danish and a smaller item on a plate, then he folded up the box and tossed it in the recycling.

Erik knew he should really go get his danish, but he really needed to get these lines of dialogue down before he forgot them.

And then it became a moot point. The man was wheeling over, the plate with Erik's danish and the mystery item balanced on his lap.

Erik sighed and stopped typing.

The man came up to Erik's table, looking entirely too cheerful (and entirely too edible). “I have your danish,” he said, “and Raven wants me to give out samples of their new cookies. She calls them Mexican wedding cakes, but her husband insists they're Russian tea cakes.”

Erik took the plate, eyeing the cookie dubiously. It was the size and shape of a golf ball and dusted liberally with powdered sugar.

“You aren't allergic to nuts, are you?”

Erik shoom his head and lifted the ball to his lips. It proved to be a type of buttery shortbread laced with chopped pecans, not very sweet apart from the coating of powdered sugar. Delicious,” he declared once he'd swallowed it, “but messy.” It had shed crumbs and sugar all over his t-shirt and jeans.

“I'm sorry. I should have brought napkins.” The man zipped off before Erik could tell him not to bother.

He returned a minute later with a stack of unbleached-paper napkins. “Here. Sorry about that.”

Erik took a napkin, wiped powdered sugar from his fingers then dabbed at his shirt. “Not your fault. But you might want to put a warning label on those things.”

The man laughed, and damnit, the sound was just as appealing as the rest of him. “Caution: Fragile.”

Erik smiled. “Perfect.”

“I'll leave you to your work, then.” The man turned to wheel away.

Erik opened his mouth to ask him to stay but thought better of it. They both had work to do.

He finished the chapter he was on, then took his empty coffee cup up for a refill. The store was relatively quiet this afternoon, the two young men behind the trade counter laughing as they sorted recent acquisitions, and the woman at the main cash registers was pricing a box of paperbacks. The man behind the pastry counter looked to be a million miles away, his blue eyes staring out the front windows, a pensive look on his face.

But he came out of his reverie as Erik approached. “Everything all right?” he asked.

Erik held up his mug. “Just after a refill.” He selected the House Blend this time, pumping the top of the insulated carafe and watching the steaming liquid shoot into the cup.

He bypassed the milk this time and lifted the mug to his face for an appreciative sniff and an even more appreciative sip. He closed his eyes in bliss.

The man chuckled softly. “You like it that much?”

Erik opened his eyes. “And you don't?”

The man shook his head, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. He brushed it aside as he said, “Never cared much for the stuff.”

Erik savored another sip. “Your loss.”

The man chuckled again. “Fortunately most of the patrons agree with you.”

“Drink of the gods.”

The man made a face. No, Erik couldn't keep referring to him as “the man.” He extended his hand. “I'm Erik.”

“Charles.” He shook Erik's hand. His grip was strong, his hand hard and lightly callused.

Erik looked deep into those cerulean eyes. “A pleasure.”

Charles licked those ruby lips. “Indeed.” He held Erik's gaze for long moments before glancing away. “I should let you get back to work.”

“And I, you.”

Charles glanced around the near-empty store. “Such as it is. I'll probably just grab a box of books to mark.”

“Come sit with me,” Erik blurted, his horror at his boldness lagging behind his words. “If you won't get in trouble.” He wasn't even sure Charles was interested, and he was practically propositioning him.

“But you're working, too. I don't want to interfere.”

Erik did something he never did -- he blew off his work. “I'm ahead of schedule. I can take a little time.”

Charles beamed. “Just give me a minute to make a cup of tea, then I'll be over.”

“Okay.” Erik returned to his table, saved his work and put away his laptop. Then a realization struck him, and he got up and dragged the armchair across from him over to one of the other tables before returning to his seat.

He glanced over, saw Charles emerging from behind the counter, a plate with a mug and three cookies on it on his lap. He flashed an appreciative smile as he noticed Erik's rearranging, then came over and set his plate on the table.

Charles made a quick three-point turn into the vacated space and locked his wheels. “So what brings you here?”

“To Tucson? Or this store?”

“Both.”

“Tucson -- I was tired of New York winters. Here -- I live just down the street, it's a good place to get some work done, and the pastries are just obscenely good.”

Charles smiled. “I'll let my sister know she's got a fan -- Raven's is her place. And I know what you mean about New York winters.”

“So what brought you out here?”

A shadow flickered on Charles' face, so quick Erik thought he might have imagined it. “I came out here for Raven,” he said, a little too quick. There was indeed a story there, Erik was sure.

But not a story for now. He smiled at Charles. “So where have they been hiding you, anyway? Or are you new?” He shook his head. “No, you know the routines too well.”

Charles chuckled. “No, I'm not new. I just usually wind up stuck in the back, working on the books.”

Erik shuddered. He hated that kind of book work. “So you're an accountant?”

Charles laughed, and it truly was a wonderful sound, deep and rich. “No, just the poor soul who gets stuck with the day-to-day.”

“I hope they pay you well.”

“It has its compensations.” Charles smiled, sipped his tea. “Talking to you.”

“Usually sends people running for the hills.” Some of his fans might try to tough it out, but about the only people who could tolerate him at all were Angel, his agent; and Emma, his editor.

“You don't seem that bad.”

“Oh, I'm very bad.” Erik allowed himself a small smile.

Charles, on the other hand, grinned. “Good thing I like bad boys.”

“I'm not a boy.”

Charles' gaze raked over him. “No, you're not.”

Erik burst out laughing. “G-d, listen to us!”

“Graduates of Cheesy Pick-Up Lines 101.”

“Do any of them actually work?”

Charles drew himself up straight in his chair, looking indignant save for the merry twinkle in those blue eyes. “I'll have you know the good ones never fail me.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“Care to try one on me?” Erik challenged.

“All right.” Charles thought for a moment. “Would you care to join me for a late dinner after this place closes?”

“That's it?”

“You seem the type to prefer a direct approach.”

Erik was that.

“So what do you say?”

“I'd love to.”

“There's a little Greek place down the street,” Charles suggested.

Erik had been there. “Sounds good.”

“It's a date, then.” Charles flashed another of those killer smiles. “I suppose I should pretend that I work here.”

Erik returned the smile. “I wouldn't want you to get fired on my account.”

“No danger of that, my friend,” Charles said as he wheeled off.

My friend. Erik liked the sound of that.


	2. Dinner

Erik got most of another chapter done in a caffeine-induced frenzy. He didn't usually drink so much coffee, but it gave him excuses to interact with Charles a little more. It also gave him cause to know that Xavier's had a really nice men's room.

When one of the employees dimmed the lights fifteen minutes before closing, Erik began packing up, but he made no move to leave. The blond behind the trade counter gave him the hairy eyeball, but he looked away when he realized Charles was headed in Erik's direction. “I've got this, Alex,” Charles called over his shoulder.

“Sure thing, boss,” Alex acknowledged.

“Boss?” Erik mouthed as Charles came close.

Charles grinned cheekily. “Did I forget to mention my last name is Xavier?”

“Yes. You did.” Erik smiled.

“Though I did say the boss would never fire me.”

“True.”

“So shall we go.”

Erik pulled his jacket out and shrugged it on. Charles watched him, then almost as an afterthought, he unrolled the sleeves of his white button-down and fastened the cuffs. “Wimp,” he teased, nodding at Erik's jacket.

“I really don't like to be cold,” Erik protested.

“Hence why you moved to Arizona.” Charles' sapphire eyes gleamed and his voice grew seductive. “I'm sure I can make sure you stay warm tonight.”

And suddenly the temperature in the store shot up ten degrees. Erik grinned at Charles, the same grin that both Angel and Emma called terrifying, but Charles didn't look at all scared. Rather, he looked hungry.

Erik was equally hungry for Charles but he also needed to satisfy an entirely different type of hunger. “Dinner first,” he said, “and then we can see about you keeping me warm.”

Charles licked his crimson lips. ”Let's go, then,” he said. “Do you mind walking?”

“Not at all.”

The night air eas cool enough to make Erik slide his hands into his jacket pockets; the breeze, just stiff enough to make him consider turning up his collar. But the restaurant was no more than a five-minute walk away; he could tough it out.

Charles led the way, allowing Erik to check him out a little more -- the fluid gracefulness of his arms and shoulders as he propelled himself down the street, the elegant column of his neck, the solid strength of his hands. The breeze ruffled his shaggy hair and reddened his ears but otherwise left him untouched.

Erik opened the restaurant door amd was greeted by the scents of cooking meat, spices, and garlic. He paused, inhaling deeply.

“Divine, isn't it,” Charles said as he entered.

That it was.

They went to the counter, and Erik studied the menu board. Charles didn't even look, just ordered a gyro combo that came with fries and a salad, plus he ordered a side of rice. Erik decided on the roast chicken with rice and a salad.

“You should really try the fries,” Charles advised. “I swear they're the best in town.”

What the hell. He could work off the extra calories, hopefully with Charles after dinner. So he ordered a side of fries.

He reached for his wallet, but Charles swatted playfully at his hand. “I asked _you_ out.”

Erik shrugged and yielded. It wasn't worth arguing over. He took his drink cup and filled it with lemonade, then headed for a table.

“No,” Charles called. “Grab one of the booths back by the windows.”

Done. Erik went to the back of the restaurant, slid into the next-to-last booth, watching as Charles got his own drink then came toward him. His gaze remained on Erik, a soft smile on those plush lips.

Charles wheeled up, set his drink -- iced tea? -- on the table, locked his wheels, and slid his body from his chair and into the booth with an easy grace. He pulled his legs into place then leaned against the booth's padded back, grimacing, his eyes half-closing.

“Are you all right?”

Those beautiful eyes blinked back open. “It's nothing,” he said. “My back's just rather spectacularly fucked up. It always hurts by this time of night.”

Erik absorbed this knowledge then spoke quietly. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

Charles regarded him for a moment before responding. “I don't,” he said. “I really don't, and I will tell you. Just not tonight. I don't want to talk about it tonight.”

Erik nodded, and they sat for a moment in silence before he asked, “Would a massage help? I'm told I give good back rubs.”

Charles smiled softly. “I'd like that.”

Charles might have said more, but a waitress arrived with two plastic trays loaded with food, and Erik and Charles got down to the serious business of eating.

“Eat your fries while they're hot,” Charles directed as he popped the lid off a small container of orangeish sauce and dipped a fry into it, eyes closing on bliss as he ate it.

Erik tried a fry and found it perfectly cooked, crackling-crisp exterior, moist and fluffy interior. He ate three more in quick succession. “What's the orange stuff?”

Charles paused in his attack on the mound of fries just long enough to answer. “They just call it fry sauce. I think the main ingredients are mayo and ketchup.”

Erik eyed the little cups on his tray dubiously, then pried the lid off one and dipped a fry. The sauce was creamy and tangy and surprisingly tasty, but Erik decided he liked the pure taste of the potatoes best. He set his sauce containers on Charles' tray.

“You don't like it?”

“It's good, but it seems I like my fries like I like my men.”

Charles paused, fry halfway to his lips. “How's that?” he asked, then popped the fry in his mouth.

Erik grinned. “Hot and naked.”

Charles almost choked, and after a few splutters and a hasty swallow of his drink, he determinedly changed the subject. “Other than the weather, what brought you here? Work?”

“In a way.” Erik finished his fries and began pulling apart the half-chicken on his plate. The skin was crusted with herbs, and the meat was moist and tender. “I'm a writer, so I can work almost anywhere.”

Charles finished his own fries and picked up his gyro. “Have you written anything I'd recognize?”

“Maybe. I write thrillers,” Erik said, “cold-war-era spy thrillers. E.M. Lehnsherr.”

Charles' sapphire eyes widened in recognition. “I'm afraid I haven't read them, but I know the name. They seem popular.”

Erik shrugged. “They pay the bills.”

“You, my friend, are entirely too modest. I've seen the covers -- you've made a few bestsellers lists.”

“It's no big deal,” Erik insisted. “That's not why I write. I write because I have to, because otherwise the characters get bottled up inside me and I feel like I'm going crazy.” Erik halted; he never revealed this much.

Charles nodded, as if he'd heard Erik's thought. “I sense you don't talk about this much.”

Erik nodded in return. “Try never.”

Charles glanced away, and for just a moment a shadow descended over his face. “That's all right. We all have our secrets.” His smile qnd the twinkle in his eye returned. “So tell me what you think of our fair city.”

'I've barely been here a month. There's a lot I haven't seen yet.”

“Understood.” Charles took a bite of his gyro.

“But so far I love it. I love stepping out onto my patio in the morning and seeing the mountains soaring in the north -- the Catalinas, right? I love the impossible turquoise of the skies, the flaming colors of the sunset over still more mountains. I love taking a walk down a dry riverbed and knowing there are fish hibernating beneath my feet, waiting for the next good rainstorm.”

“Someone's done his research,” Charles observed.

“I'm a writer. It's part of what I do.” Erik took a bite of rice, and lemon and olive oil danced on his taste buds.

“Have you been to the Desert Museum yet?”

“No.”

“You should go. You'll learn everything you could ever want to know about the local flora and fauna.”

“I will, then,” Erik said, “especially if I have a local guide.”

Charles smiled. “I'm available.”

“This weekend?”

Charles shook his head. “The store is busiest on weekends.”

“Monday, then?”

“It's a date” Those cherry lips broke into a broad grin.

Erik used a wedge of pita to mop up the juices from the chicken. “This is crazy. We just met, but I feel like I've known you forever.”

“Maybe we knew each other in a past life.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Charles shook his head. “No. But it's a good line.”

Now Erik shook his head. ”It's a crappy line. Trite. Clichéd.”

“I'll defer to the writer,” Charles said, chuckling. He had finished most of his food, was picking at the remains of his salad.

Erik, too, had left his salad to last, and now he pulled it close. The dressing was sharp with vinegar and pungent with oregano, balanced out by the pepperiness of olive oil and the saltiness of feta. He ate slowly, already pleasantly sated, content to nibble and to draw out the conversation. “So tonight -- your place or mine?”

Charles considered, his lush lips pursed. “You said you were close?”

“I am. Maybe three blocks.”

“How accessible is it?”

Good question. “No steps. Beyond that, I'm not really sure”

“I guess I'll live the adventure,” Charles said. “I'm almost thirty minutes away, even this time of night.” He nodded at Erik's plate. “Finish your food. I'm going to use the facilities here, then we can go.”

Erik nodded agreement, watched as Charles pulled himself back into his chair, not missing the other man's faint winces. Clearly that massage couldn't come soon enough.

Erik finished his salad, sipped at the last of his lemonade, mused as he waited. He really did feel this crazy instant connection with Charles, inexplicable yet undeniable. And Charles clearly felt it, too.

Erik didn't know where this was headed. Fuck, he was so not good at relationships. He hadn't even tried since Magda, and what a nightmare that had been. But Charles made him want to try.

Charles came back into view then, and his face lit when he saw Erik.

Erik gazed hungrily into those sapphire eyes. Charles made him want a lot of things. Hopefully some of them would happen tonight.


	3. Massage and Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be SMUT!

Charles decided to leave his car in its space behind Xavier's; he said hauling himself and his chair in and out for a three-block trip was too much of a hassle, and besides, he could use the exercise. His eyes sparkled as he said that, leaving little doubt as to the kind of exercise he would prefer.

Erik unlocked his front door. “Are you allergic to cats?” he blurted, realizing he'd forgotten to mention his furry beasts.

Charles chuckled. “Not at all. But I wouldn't have taken you for a cat person.”

Erik pushed the door open. Fortunately none of the little monsters made a dash for freedom. “My mom is, so I got used to having them around.”

The doorway proved a little narrow, but Charles managed. “So how many do you have?”

“Three -- Pan, Artemis, and Marshmallow.”

Charles laughed, and it was an intoxicating sound. “Marshmallow?”

“She was supposed to be Athena, but she's no goddess of wisdom. She's sweet, she's fluffy, and she doesn't have much substance. And she's black and white like a burnt marshmallow.”

Erik found the light switch, bathed his spartan living room in light. Overstuffed couch. Recliner. Coffee table. Entertainment center. And the built-in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that had sold him on this place.

“Lovely,” Charles said, but he was staring at Erik, not the bookshelves.

“May I kiss you?” Erik was suddenly nervous.

“I've been waiting all night.” Charles gazed up at him, blue eyes gleaming hot with desire.

Erik cradled Charles' jaw, five-o'clock shadow burning his palms, leant in, took the barest taste of those crimson lips.

Charles grabbed a double-handful of Erik's jacket and yanked him closer, his lips hungry and demanding as they covered Erik's. His tongue flicked against Erik's lips, and Erik parted them in silent invitation. Charles tasted like garlic and oregano and olive oil and of something uniquely earthy and spicy.

Erik buried his hands in the heavy silk of Charles' hair and held him close as he devoured that sinful mouth.

But eventually they had to part, and they stared at each other, breathless. “I believe I promised you a massage,” Erik said, voice husky with desire.

“Where do you want me?”

 _Anywhere. Everywhere._ “My bed.”

He led the way into his bedroom, as sparsely furnished as the living room. Pan and Artemis lounged on the bed, the former dead-center, the latter on his pillow.

Pan was a big short-haired tom, a charcoal-grey spotted tabby with a tuft of longer fur under his chin that resembled a beard. Artemis was also predominantly grey, but in softer, silvery shades. She was a calico tabby Manx, with orange splotches mixed with the mottled greys. Her chest and paws were white; her tail, a grey cotton-ball stub; her eyes, a soft green. Those eyes regarded Charles with diffident curiosity.

“They're lovely,” Charles said in that polished-glass accent.

“The big guy is Pan. The little one who looks like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth is Artemis. Marshmallow prefers sleeping under the bed.”

“They're adorable.”

“They're also in the way.” Erik went to his dresser and opened the second drawer. Pan and Artemis went on high alert, ready to spring up. Erik chuckled, pulled a small canister from the drawer. He shook it once, and both fur monsters flew to his side and twined around his ankles.

But no Marshmallow. He shook the canister harder, evoking eager meows from the two already present, and finally a fluffy black-and-white body oozed out from under the bed, and a set of green-gold eyes stared at him, hopeful and pathetic. “Drama queen,” he told her, then he left the bedroom, all three cats close on his heels.

He went to the kitchen, doled out three piles of kitty treats, the largest portion to Marshmallow who would steal from the others if she finished first, then he returned to the bedroom alone and triumphant.

He closed the door, locked eyes with Charles.

“Masterful.”

Erik shrugged. “Bribery works well with cats.”

“With me, too.” Charles' smile lit his face. “Kiss me again.”

Erik sank to his knees in front of Charles. He sank one hand into his velvet-soft hair, urging his head forward, while the other settled on his side, along the lithe muscles there.

Charles' arms circled his torso, held him close. His embrace was firm and secure, confident in his strength but not overpowering.

Erik yielded to the embrace; being held lile this, by someone whose physical strength matched his own, was a rare and heady thing, and he revelled in it.

Charles' lips closed over his, tender and hungry at once.

Erik's hands roamed Charles' back, over the planes of lean, hard muscle, the angular knobs of his shoulder blades, found thick twists of scar tissue along his lower spine, hesitated.

Charles pulled his lips away from Erik's. “You won't hurt me, love. The physical damage is long-healed.” Then he kissed Erik again, slow and sweet and filthy as hell.

Erik resumed his exploration of Charles' back, this time looking for points of tightness, applying gentle pressure to map Charles' responses. He noted Charles' didn't react to anything on the few inches above the waistband of his pants.

He broke the kiss, gazed deep into Charles' eyes. “I suppose I should have asked this before--”

Charles smiled gently. “But how does sex work for me?”

Erik nodded, looked away.

Charles cupped his cheek, brought his head back around. “It's actually kind of refreshing that you didn't worry about it before now.” Charles' smile was gentle. “And it is a bit different. All of my erogenous zones have moved northward. Nipples, throat, ears, palms, wrists -- it'll all get me there.”

“And it's still good?”

“It's very, very good.”

“I'm glad.” Erik smiled. “Now I believe I promised you a massage.”

“You did.” Charles maneuvered in close to the bed, swung his body onto the mattress, then began unbuttoning his shirt.

The skin revealed was fairer than that of his face and forearms, pale ivory, almost alabaster, dusted with amber freckles. His chest was nearly hairless, the muscles lean and solid and nicely defined, his nipples dusky-rose and slightly peaked.

“Did anyone ever tell you you're gorgeous?”

Charles glanced away. “Not in a long time.”

“Then you've been hanging out with the wrong crowd.

Charles laughed, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He glanced away again. “It really has been a long time.”

“How long?” Erik asked quietly.

“Almost two years. It was a bad breakup. I've just poured my energy into the shop since then.”

“Two years? No wonder you're tense,” Erik teased.

Charles beamed, his somber mood dispelled as quickly as it had appeared.

“Roll over,” Erik directed, climbing back to his feet. 

Charles lifted his legs onto the bed then rolled onto his stomach. Now Erik could see much of the scarring on his back, thick lines of silvery tissue that began on a level with the bottoms of his shoulder blades, slashing down the column of his spine and disappearing below the waistband of his trousers. Erik rested his fingers lightly beside the scars. “I know I said I wouldn't ask--”

“Not tonight,” Charles repeated. “Just let me enjoy tonight without dredging up the past.”

Erik leant over and kissed his cheek. “All right.” He sat beside Charles' hip, ran the flat of his hand down the smooth column of muscle to the left of Charles' spine. “How much of this will you be able to feel?”

“The massage? Most of it. It gets a bit patchy around the middle of my back, some places where the sensation is duller, but it doesn't go away entirely until just above my waist.”

“So to what, about here?” Erik's fingers rested less than six inches above his belt line.

“Down a little more.”

Erik's fingers slid lower.

“About there, yeah. It's a band more than a line,” Charles confirmed.

About where he'd thought. Not quite a handswidth above the top of Charles' trousers. He leaned over, retrieved the bottle of hand lotion from his nightstand drawer, squirted some into his palm to warm.

He began at Charles' shoulders, lightly at first, then up his neck to the base of his skull, teasing the tension from his muscles. Gradually he worked deeper, Charles' groans of pleasure giving way to the occasional hiss when Erik hit a particularly sore spot.

Erik steered well clear of the scars at first, but some of the sorest spots proved to be quite close to the vertical bands of fibrous tissue, so he carefully probed along them. Charles didn't tell him to stop, so he kneaded the area gently but firmly.

By the time Erik worked his way down near where Charles would stop feeling his touch, the smaller man was practically purring, half-asleep and utterly relaxed.

Erik continued his massage until he reached the waistband of Charles' trousers. Charles might not feel the touch, but Erik felt sure it would benefit him nonetheless.

Charles was all but asleep now, and Erik wouldn't wake him. Maybe this wasn't quite the ending to the evening he'd envisioned, but he wouldn't complain. Just getting to spend time with this brilliant, beautiful man was enough.

He took Charles' hand, pressed it to his lips, cradled it in both of his. It was a small hand, square-palmed, the fingers sturdy, the backs dusted with more freckles. Erik could feel the coiled strength in those hands, knew how much Charles relied on them.

Charles stirred, mumbled something like ”Come to bed.”

A fine idea. Erik squeezed Charles' hand, set it down, then rose and stripped down to his boxers. He got in on the other side of the bed then slid over next to Charles, cuddling up along his side, draping an arm across Charles back.

Charles made a happy sound, mumbled something incoherent, and snuggled into Erik's embrace.

They both slept contentedly for a few hours, then Erik awoke to Charles shifting restlessly in his arms.

Erik cracked his eyes open. “W's wrong?”

“Sorry to wake you,” Charles said, “but I need to turn over. It's not good for me to stay in one position all night. I'm afraid I'm rather programmed to wake up.”

“It's okay,” Erik said, voice still hoarse from sleep. “What do I need to do?”

“Just give me some room.”

Erik retreated to the other side of the bed.

Charles rolled onto his side, facing Erik, reached down to maneuver his left leg over his right, then smiled softly. “How about coming back over here now?”

Erik didn't need to be asked twice. He scooted over close to Charles and leaned on for a kiss.

Charles met his lips willingly, enthusiastically. His tongue slipped into Erik's mouth, twined with Erik's own. One of those lean, powerful arms pulled him closer, skin to skin. Nice. Really nice.

Charles' hand slid lower, squeezed Erik's left ass cheek then smacked it lightly.

Erik's cock took notice.

And Charles took notice of Erik's cock. His hand slid between them and rubbed Erik through the thin cotton of his boxers.

Erik arched into the touch.

Charles broke their kiss long enough to chuckle and say, “Seem's like someone's happy.” He gave Erik's cock a squeeze.

Erik groaned and his hips bucked against Charles' hand.

Charles' hand slid up to the waistband of Erik's boxers. “Let's get rid of these, shall we?”

Erik lifted his hips, shoved at the fabric.

“And how about you move up so I can take care of you properly.”

Erik had gotten his boxers down as far as his knees, and he decided that was good enough. He sat up, scooted back against the headboard. “How's this?”

“Perfect.” Charles rolled over a bit, draping himself over Erik's thigh, his solid weight the only thing convincing Erik this was no dream.

Charles short, sturdy fingers brushed over his cock with maddening gentleness then wrapped around its base. He leant forward, licked the head like a lollipop, tongued the slit.

Erik groaned his approval.

Ever so slowly Charles eased Erik's cock into his mouth, enveloping it in wet heat. He was able to draw a surprising amount of Erik's cock in past those cherry lips, down almost to where his fingers curled around the base, and once he'd taken all he could, he held there motionless until Erik thought he'd go mad with anticipation.

Finally, though, his lips tightened around Erik's shaft, and he pulled back millimeter by millimeter until all that remained in his mouth was the head, then he drove down until his lips almost reached his fingers again, then another slow pullback while he did some truly obscene things with his tongue.

Sweet torture, and Erik didn't know how much of it he could stand. Only Charles' weight on his leg kept him from snapping his hips upward and driving hos cock back onto that beautiful, filthy mouth.

Charles must have sensed this because he stopped teasing and started sucking in earnest.

Erik stretched his arms out along the top of the headboard and hung on. He could already tell this would be the best blow job of his life. Charles could teach graduate-level seminars in cocksucking.

And he knew just how to dial it back a notch every time Erik was trembling on the brink, how to keep Erik all but mindless with need, how to reduce him to a quivering mess that ached for release.

A release he did finally grant, just when Erik was sure he could take no more, when what passed his lips was a jumbled polyglot comprehensible not even to himself.

Instead of slowing down as he had so many times before, this time Charles sped up, sucking in double-time, his tongue caressing Erik's shaft, his teeth grazing its surface with little jolts of pleasure in-in-pain.

Erik gasped, shuddered, came hot and hard and fast. Charles, the talented little shit, swallowed it all.

Erik collapsed, boneless, against the headboard. Charles rolled off to lie on his back beside him. “Was it good for you?” he teased softly, voice a little hoarse.

“Holy fuck,” was the only comment Erik could manage.

They stayed in silence until coherent thought returned to Erik's brain. “Your turn,” he said.

“You don't have to.”

“You just blew my mind and sucked it out through my cock. I _will_ reciprocate.”

“Well, when you put it that way.” Charles grinned. “I'm all yours.”

Not yet. Not by a long shot. Yet Erik had hope that what was between them could last, could be built upon, could be the beginnings of a life together.

Erik leaned over and kissed Charles. Damn but he tasted good.

He slid down beside Charles, kissed him again, trailed a line of kisses from the corner of Charles' mouth to his earlobe. He sucked gently on the small nub, was rewarded with a quiet hiss. He sucked harder for a bit, then he licked and nibbled his way around the curve. Charles shuddered in his arms.

He nuzzled that pale shell, let his breath caress it, then sucked his way down the elegant column of Charles' neck, nipped his way back up. He nuzzled the hollow behind the corner of Charles' jaw, returned his lips to Charles' earlobe as his hands skimmed over his chest. His fingers closed on Charles' nipples, pinched and kneaded them until the smaller man was writhing and moaning beside him.

He slid down a bit to take Charles' right nipple into his mouth, sucking hard then soft, hard then soft, while his fingers continued to knead and tease the left, even scratching it lightly.

Charles' was almost there. Erik raked the one nipple with his nails while he bit down on the other.

Charles went rigid, pupils blown wide, lips parted in a silent cry, then he slumped back, eyes glassy, hair dishevelled, looking utterly wrecked.

Erik sank back beside him, lay his head on Charles' chest. He could get used to this. He could definitely get used to this.


	4. Day Two

Charles woke in darkness to find himself in a strange bed, and he felt a stab of alarm before memory flooded back. Erik. A night of flirting and conversation capped by bone-melting sex.

He could just make out Erik's form sprawled across from him. They'd fallen asleep curled together, but apparently Erik was a restless sleeper. A glance at the bedside clock told him it was just before six. Time for him to head home, unfortunately.

He pushed himself to a sitting position, wincing just a little. The massage last night had been wonderful, but it wasn't a miracle cure. Still, his back felt better than it had in a long time, maybe since before--

Erik stirred beside him. “Charles?”

“I need to go,” he said.

“Stay for breakfast.” Erik's hand wrapped around his wrist.

“All right. But I really do need to get home. There are things I need to do in the morning that I can't do here without planning ahead.”

“Eggs and toast okay? I can make that quick.”

“Sound's good.”

Erik switched on the bedside lamp and sat up. His back was a work of art, powerful shoulders tapering to an impossibly narrow waist. He rubbed at his face, yawned, then rose, reminding Charles that far more than Erik's back was a work of art. The man had the body of a Greek god.

Erik fished boxers from a drawer then padded off to the bathroom. Charles tugged his legs off the bed, transferred himself into his chair, then looked around for his shirt. He found it on the floor, hopelessly rumpled.

Erik returned from the bathroom, now wearing the boxers. Too bad. He glanced at the shirt in Charles' hands. “Need a t-shirt to wear home?”

Before Charles could answer, Erik retrieved two black t-shirts, brought one to him, leaned in for a kiss.

He tasted obscenely good. Charles' hands gripped his shoulders, held him close for a long moment, pulled back only reluctantly. “Will I see you later,” Charles asked.

“Count on it.” Erik brushed a kiss across his cheek. “Now let me go start breakfast.” Erik sauntered off toward the kitchen.

Charles pulled on the t-shirt Erik had given him and went to see if he could get into Erik's bathroom.

**~xXx~**

The sun was just creeping over the Tucson mountains as Charles made his way up into the Catalina foothills. Traffic was light and most of it was headed in the opposite direction, down the hill into the city, commuters on the way to work, so he made it home in little more than twenty minutes.

He pulled into the drive, waited for the garage door, backed inside. He'd just switched off the engine when he saw Raven sprinting across the gravelled driveway toward him. He popped his door open and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. His sister could be a tad overprotective sometimes.

“Charles!” She practically launched herself at him. “I was so worried. Azazel called and said your car was still in the lot behind the store.”

“Can't I have a personal life?”

“Except you don't have one. You haven't even dated anyone since Warren.”

“Until last night.” He extricated himself from Raven's embrace. “Now are you going to let me go inside?”

She backed up a step but not nearly enough for him to maneuver his chair out of the back seat. “So who is he?”

“He's a writer.”

Raven gave him no chance to elaborate, just rolled her eyes and said, “The last thing you need is to get involved with some dilettante who'll just see you as his sugar daddy.”

“He's no dilettante,” Charles said. “He's been on the bestsellers lists.”

“For real? Anyone I'd know?”

“He writes spy thrillers. E.M. Lehnsherr.”

“You're shitting me. Az loves his stuff. You think you could get his autograph?”

“Not unless you let me go inside now.” He started to lift his left leg out of the car.

Raven kissed his cheek. “Deal.” She turned and dashed back across the street. Charles knew she still sometimes found it difficult to watch him, that she still blamed herself on some level for his paralysis. Never mind that he'd give up the use of his legs a thousand times over if it was the price of keeping her safe. His only regret was he'd been too late that night.

He watched her until she was safely inside, then he began wrestling his chair out.

**~xXx~**

After a too-short nap, a shower, and a shave, Charles made the drive back down the hill. Late-morning traffic was a good bit heavier, and he took the long way round to avoid the bottlenecks near the university. He pulled into the lot behind Xavier's just before noon.

The store was humming as he rolled through the back door. The trade counter was jam-packed with boxes and bags that Alex and Sean and Armando were sifting through. Kitty was at the register ringing up a sale. And Moira was covering for Ororo, pricing a box of paperbacks, and looking bored.

Her brown eyes lit when she saw Charles. “Tell me you're going to take over up here. I'm going out of my skull. When's Ororo coming back, anyway?”

“Maybe tomorrow, if her daughter's well enough to go back to school.”

“Good.” Moira was already out from behind the counter, the box of books balanced on her hip.

Charles took her place, scanned the front of the store for Erik. He wasn't in yet.

A steady stream of customers, some new, some regulars who wanted to talk about Ororo's absence and whatever else was on their minds, kept Charles busy for the next few hours.

The stream petered out around three-thirty, about the time Azazel came by to swap out the coffee carafes and bring a new box of pastries. “Raven tells me you have boyfriend,” the burly Russian said, a twinkle in his blue eyes.

“Not a boyfriend. Not yet.”

“Not yet means you wish him to be.”

Charles sighed. “Yes. It does.”

“Good. Will be good for you.” Azazel cuffed him on the arm.

Charles hoped so. He hoped Erik would be as accepting of the horrors he'd endured as he had been of the paralysis. He'd promised to tell Erik about the scars, and he would, tonight, but the paralysis was only a small part of that story.

After Azazel left, Charles put the pastries in the display case then struggled to pull a fresh rack of cups from one of the shelves under the counter. It was unwieldy and the angle was awkward, especially since he couldn't use his legs for leverage.

“Need a hand?” The voice was deep and warm and deliciously familiar.

Charles let go of the tray and straightened up. “I can manage on my own,” he said, but without heat.

“I have no doubts but that you can,” Erik said softly. “But so can I. I'm here -- take advantage of that.”

Put that way, Charles could accept the help. He moved back and gestured for Erik to come behind the counter. “Please.”

Erik circled the end of the counter and squatted. Charles was mesmerized by the play of his muscles, especially the flexing of that magnificent arse.

Erik set the rack on the counter, stacked the near-empty one atop it, slid them into their appointed place. “Anything else you want me to do?”

“Come here and kiss me.”

“Gladly.” Erik dropped to his knees in front of Charles, slipped a hand behind his head and urged it forward.

Charles' hands closed on Erik's upper arms as their lips met. They needed to keep the kiss relatively chaste given that they were in public, but the taste of Erik only made Charles want more. He pulled away reluctantly, said, “Much more of that and I'll take you on the trade counter in front of my whole staff.”

Those blue-grey-green eyes twinkled. “Personally, I wouldn't mind.”

Charles gave him a slow, filthy smile. “I wouldn't, either, but I'm not so sure about the staff and customers.”

“Too bad. I was looking forward to stripping off those clothes.”

“You'll just have to wait until tonight.”

Erik sighed. “If I must.”

“I was thinking we could go to my place tonight. Mexican take-out, a movie, and whatever else we can think of.”

“I'm in.”

Charles smiled, caressed Erik's cheek. “But in the meantime, we've both got work to do. Go find a seat, and I'll bring you your coffee and danish.

Erik grinned, a very toothy grin. “Perfect.” He headed toward the front windows, looking for an empty seat.

Charles watched him go. That perfectly sculpted body. The easy grace with which he moved. And he seemed so far to be a genuinely good guy. Charles wondered how the hell he could have gotten so lucky.


	5. A Difficult Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!
> 
> This chapter is the main reason this story is marked as "Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings." It contains references to past rape, violence, and the sexual abuse of a minor. None of it is graphic, but please tread carefully.

They decided Erik would ride with him up the hill. There really wasn't much point in two cars, since there was no question but that Erik would spend the night. So he'd run home to grab a change of clothes and to make sure his fur faces were taken care of, then he'd come back a little before closing.

He caught Charles' eye as he walked back in, and Charles found himself grinning like a fool. The man was just too damned attractive -- he looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine, even dressed down in well-worn jeans and a vintage Metallica tee, both of which clung lovingly to his sculpted body.

And then there was his face. High cheekbones. Strong jaw softened by a short scruff of ginger beard. Wide eyes the shifting blue-grey-green of the sea.

“Earth to Charles. Earth to Charles.”

Startled, Charles shook himself loose of his reverie and found Armando, his general manager, standing beside him. “Sorry.”

Armando grinned. “What I was trying to say is that now that your boyfriend's back, why don't you go ahead and cut out early. We've got things covered.”

“He's not my boyfriend,” Charles protested.

“After the way you two were kissing earlier, I'd say you're practically engaged.”

Charles laughed. “We're that bad?”

“Worse. Now get going.”

Charles rolled out from behind the counter and over to Erik. “My manager just told me to go home,” he said. “I think he's afraid we'll jump each other before the customers leave.”

“No, just before the staff leaves,” Armando called.

Charles and Erik both laughed.

They made their way out the back to Charles' car, and Erik gave a low whistle of appreciation. “Vintage Mustang. Nice.”

“Sixty-six,” Charles acknowledged as he unlocked the passenger door. “It was my father's.” He wheeled around to his side, unlocked and opened the door. Erik was already folding his long legs into the car and settling his backpack and computer case between his feet.

Charles levered himself into the passenger seat then folded and stowed his chair. “Have you ever had Sonoran nachos?” he asked as he fired up the engine.

“I don't think so.”

“You're in for a treat. Beef, beans, sour cream, guacamole, fresh salsa, and cheddar cheese. I hope you're hungry.”

“I am. And I could use something to eat as well.”

Charles felt his too-fair skin flush. “No dessert before dinner. Though Azazel did give me some cheesecake brownies from Raven's.”

“Azazel?”

“My brother-in-law. Big Russian guy. Looks fierce, but he's a teddy bear on the inside.”

Charles pulled in to the drive-thru of his favorite 24-hour burrito joint and placed his order. He knew from experience that it would be a few minutes, so he pulled up to the window and killed the engine. He started to reach for his wallet, but Erik stopped him. “My turn.” He pulled out his wallet and handed Charles a couple of bills.

They sat and chatted while they waited, and Erik reached over and took Charles' hand. His hands were beautiful, long-fingered and elegant, strong yet supple. And there was something magnetic about his touch, something that sent fire racing along Charles' nerves.

He was seriously considering leaning over to kiss Erik when their food arrived. He sighed inwardly as he took the heavy sack and passed it to Erik. He gave Erik's arm a lingering squeeze, then started the car and headed home.

Just before he entered the final series of curves and turns, there was a moment when the lights of the city spread out before them. Erik let out another low whistle. “I'm jealous,” he said, chuckling. “Maybe I should have looked for a house up here.”

_I wouldn't mind sharing mine,_ Charles thought. But it was far too soon to be thinking like that. Raven would call him reckless for even bringing Erik up here this soon. What did he really know of him?

Yet Erik was the first person in a long time, maybe ever, who saw him as just him. First he'd been the Xavier heir. Next he'd been the hotshot young professor. Then the victim of a brutal attack that had radically altered his life. One of the reasons he'd come west was to get away from the pitying looks from so many people he'd known, not knowing then how often he'd see the same expression on the faces of people he'd just met.

But not on Erik's.

He turned into the drive, waited for the garage door, backed in. Erik slid out of the car, food in hand, and waited for him to follow.

Charles led Erik inside and into the living room. “Have a seat. I'll snag us a couple of beers.”

When he returned, Erik had staked out the far end of the couch and had set their takeout order on the coffee table. He was leaning back, relaxed, one ankle propped on the opposite knee, and his arm draped along the couch's back. He really was almost painfully handsome, with softly curling auburn hair and those pale, changeable eyes. Not to mention the body of an Adonis -- long legs, broad shoulders, narrow waist. Sigh.

Charles wheeled up to the other end of the couch, set the bottles down, and transferred onto the couch, unable to suppress a soft groan as his body settled into the cushions.

“Your back again?” Erik asked.

Charles nodded. “Always.”

“I'd be glad to give you another massage later.” Erik's smile was warm and a little suggestive.

Charles' answering smile was equally warm. He continued to shift his body, seeking a position his back would tolerate. Knowing what the best solution likely was, he asked, “Would you mind if I put my legs up?”

Erik glanced up from the food sack. “Do what you need to.”

Charles bent, removed his shoes, lifted his legs onto the couch, and settled his upper body against the arm. He let his head fall back against the plush surface, and he let out a contented sigh.

“Don't fall asleep before you eat,” Erik said, holding out a square styrofoam container bulging with food.

“No chance.” Charles leaned forward to take the container. He popped the lid to reveal a mound of chips smothered in toppings.

The next few minutes were largely silent save for the sounds of eating. Charles had been hungrier than he'd realized, but Erik still demolished his nachos first, and he began talking to fill the silence. “I'm glad I met you, he began. “I know we just met, but I feel this crazy connection, like I've known you all my life.”

Not so crazy. Charles felt it, too.

Erik paused, sighed. “I'm so not good at talking about this kind of shit.”

Charles chased the last bits of beef down with a chip and said nothing. It wasn't his strong suit, either.

“I guess-- I don't--” Erik fell silent.

Charles looked up, but Erik was looking away. It was Erik's hand, though, that commanded Charles' attention. It  
was curved around his left ankle, caressing it gently.

Erik finally looked back at him, followed his gaze. “Shit,” he said softly. “I did that without thinking. I know you can't feel it, but it felt good to me having that connection. But if it's not okay--”

“It's more than okay,” Charles assured him. “It's only that no one has touched my legs like that, so casually, in a long time.” The few relationships he'd had in the years since his paralysis, his partners had been uniformly chary of touching his legs, mostly, he suspected, out of a fear of doing further damage to his fragile-seeming limbs, though his last boyfriend--

He saw Erik squeeze his ankle. “No one?”

“No one,” he confirmed.

Erik's fingers traced over his foot then up his shin, paused when he came to the crooked spot about midway up. He fingered the scarred flesh over the twisted bone and looked to Charles for an explanation.

“My leg was shattered,” Charles explained. “Additional surgeries could have made it straighter, but I'd been through enough at that point.”

Erik bent, pressed a kiss to Charles' shin. “So was it an auto accident? You said you'd tell me.”

“I did, and I will.” Charles snagged his beer and drained what was left, wishing there was more. “It wasn't an accident, not in any way,” he began. “My stepbrother threw me off a fourth-floor balcony.”

Erik's eyes went wide, and the hand stroking Charles' leg stilled. “What? Why?”

“Let me start with some background.” Charles took a fortifying breath. “I was born in New York, -- English mother, American father. My dad died when I was five, and my mom took me and moved back to England to get away from the memories. Of course it didn't work; I was there, a living reminder of what she'd lost. That's probably when she started drinking, though she hid it well back then.

“When I was ten, my mother met a man named Kurt Marko. He'd worked for my father, and he used that connection to get close to her. Turned out he was really only after the Xavier money, but my mother was lonely and fell for his flattery.”

Charles' eyes closed for a moment as the memories flooded forth. “He was a brute, but he managed to hide that until after the wedding. I suspect he beat my mother, but I never had proof. He would beat me on occasion, but mostly he left me to his son Cain. Cain was every bit as much of a brute and a bully as his father, plus he was two years older than me and absolutely huge. But I was fast and knew all the good places to hide.”

Charles took another deep, steadying breath, then pushed on. “Raven came to live with us after her parents died, when I was twelve and she was ten. She's a cousin, but I consider her my sister. Kurt, fortunately, didn't take much notice of her. Cain, unfortunately, did. I taught her to hide, though, and for a while that was enough.

“Things came to a head when Raven turned fourteen. Cain was seventeen, and he took notice that she was becoming a beautiful young woman. He tried to force himself on her, but I intervened.” He paused, the memory threatening to overwhelm him. He never talked about this, not even to Raven, who'd lived it with him. Was he really ready to reveal it to a man he'd just met?

Erik, unbidden, lifted Charles legs and slid underneath them, closer to Charles, then he took Charles' hands in his own. “Was that when--?”

Charles shook his head. “No. I was able to deflect him.” He closed his eyes as the still-too-clear memories came forth.

'Deflect him?”

Charles nodded. “The only way I could.”

He couldn't bring himself to open his eyes and look at Erik as comprehension dawned. “You let him use you instead,” Erik said, his voice quiet and flat.

“I did. I knew he'd be gone once he graduated, and I figured I could endure for a few months if it kept Raven safe.”

Charles heard neither the condemnation nor the revulsion he was braced for. “You really love her.”

“More than anything.”

Erik kissed his fingers. “You're a rare man, Charles Xavier.”

Not really. He'd failed Raven in the end. He sighed, opened his eyes, continued. “Cain went into the army, I went off to college, and a couple of years later, Kurt died in a fire. I thought Cain was out of our lives for good, but I couldn't have been more wrong.

“It was five weeks after my twenty-sixth birthday. I was in my first year as an associate professor at Columbia.” He saw Erik's brows rise. “Raven called me one night, so panicked I could barely understand her. Cain had found her in the rose garden, told her this time he wouldn't settle for 'no little faggot.' She ran and hid upstairs and called the police, but she was terrified he'd find her first.

“I was at least an hour away, but I told her I'd come. As it was, I broke a lot of traffic laws and made it in forty minutes. But I was still too late.

“There were no police -- I learned later my mother had sent them away, sure it was a prank. I went straight upstairs, but I was far too late. Cain was on top of her, and she was all limp and bloody. I thought he'd killed her. I didn't stop to think. I just launched myself at him. Not real smart -- he's a foot taller, twice my weight, and he has military training. But he was hurting my sister.”

Charles paused, took a breath. Erik continued holding his hands in silent support. “I don't remember much after that. Cain swatted me away then pummeled me like a punching bag. Raven started screaming, then Cain tossed me off the balcony. I remember falling, and that's the last I remember for a long time.”

Erik wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a secure embrace. “How did you even survive?”

“I shouldn't have, but I went through the branches of a tree. That broke my fall just enough. Even so, I nearly died. Four shattered vertebrae. Leg broken in six places. Skull fracture. I spent a week in a coma.”

Erik squeezed him a little tighter. “Do you regret it, knowing the price you paid?”

Charles' answer was immediate. “No. I'd do it again to save Raven.”

“What happened to Cain?” Erik asked. “Please tell me he didn't get away.”

“My mother happened to Cain,” Charles answered softly. “She heard Raven screaming, arrived just in time to see Cain toss me off the balcony, and something in her snapped. She attacked Cain with the wine bottle in her hand, broke it over his head, nearly killed him. He's in prison now, should be there another ten years.” Charles slumped in Erik's embrace, the telling of this story leaving him drained.

Erik kissed the top of his head. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me the whole story.”

“I almost didn't,” Charles admitted.

“And that would have been okay, too.” Erik's strong fingers were gentle as they rubbed small circles between Charles' shoulder blades. “When I first saw you, I thought you were gorgeous. After I talked to you a little, I knew you were smart and funny. After I had a chance to watch you with your customers and staff, I knew you were a good-hearted man. And after tonight, I know you're the kind of man I could fall in love with.”

“Erik--”

“Not because of what you've been through. Because of something you said about it.” Erik's hand dropped to the scars on Charles' back. “You said you'd do it again to save Raven, even knowing what it cost you.”

“And I would,” Charles said quietly, “no matter what it cost me.”

Erik cupped his chin in those long fingers, lifted his head, kissed him slow and sweet and gentle. “That's what makes you a man I could love.”


	6. Cuddling and Sex

For a long time neither of them said a word. Erik continued to hold Charles in a secure embrace, snug ans comforting but not smothering, one hand rubbing gentle circles on Charles' back. Charles rested his head on Erik's shoulder, wearied by the memories, the ghosts of pain and fear.

“Are you okay?” Erik asked quietly after a while.

Charles realized he'd begun shifting restlessly, the ever-present pain in his back asserting itself. “My back,” he admitted. “ I need to move.”

“To your bed?” Erik's voice was husky in his ear.

“Yes,” Charles said, “though I'm afraid I'm too worn out for much of anything other than sleep.”

Erik cupped his chin, tilted his head up until their gazes met. “I'm all right with that. Just let me hold you and kiss you good night.”

“Okay.” Charles looked deep into those pale, luminous eyes for a long minute and smiled. “I'm a lucky man that you walked into my life.”

“I'm just as lucky that you rolled into mine.” Erik brushed a kiss across his lips.

Charles smiled, and his weariness faded just a notch. “Bed;” he said, then he began the process of extricating himself from their embrace. He lifted his legs, one at a time, off Erik's lap and set his feet on the floor. His back prorested the twisting required to pull his chair closer and slide his body into it. He saw worry flash in Erik's eyes, “It's nothing, love,” he assured him. “Just my back again.”

Erik nodded acknowledgment but still looked concerned. “Then let me massage you to sleep.”

An offer Charles couldn't refuse. “Follow me.” He led the way to his bedroom. Spacious, comfortable, done in soothing deep greens and earth tones. Dominated by a queen bed with a truly heavenly mattress and soft jersey sheets.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, nodding at the bed, as he wheeled himself toward the attached bathroom. “I'll be quick as I can, but getting ready for bed still takes me a while.”

He worked his way through his nightly routine, his only hesitation over what to wear. He usually slept in boxers, though last night he had slept in his trousers. Even as accepting as Erik was, Charles remained just a little bit reticent about baring his legs, no matter that he'd already bared his soul. In the end, though, he returned to the bedroom completely naked.

Erik was already under the covers, but Charles saw a neatly-folded stack of clothes atop his dresser.

Erik's eyes tracked him hungrily as he approached the bed. He turned back the covers, transferred over, lifted his legs onto the mattress. As he reached for the covers, Erik covered his hand with his own, halting him. “Let me look at you.”

Charles nodded, lay back, though he was still a little uneasy.

Erik's finger traced the curve of his shoulder, then drew his hand down Charles' chest and belly to (and probably past) the line between sensation and nothingness.

“You're a beautiful man, Charles Xavier.”

Charles shook his head.

“Even more so because you don't see it.” Erik kissed him sweet and hot, like habañero jelly. “Now roll over. I promised you a massage.”

Erik moved back, and Charles maneuvered onto his stomach.

“Is it okay if I straddle your legs? It'll give me better leverage.”

“Do it.”

Erik rose to his knees on the bed and moved into position. Charles could just feel the pressure of those knees against his sides.

Erik began slowly, gently, just running his hands over Charles' back, but gradually his fingers worked deep into the tight muscles.

Marvellous.

**~xXx~**

Charles woke around two to find Erik snuggled up against his side, one lean, strong arm draped across Charles' back. It felt delightful, but he knew he needed to move.

“Erik,” he said quietly. “Erik.”

One blue-green eye cracked open. “Wha-”

“I need to turn over.”

The eye blinked, started to drift closed.

“Erik.” Charles spoke more forcefully this time.

“Charles?” Erik's speech was sleep-slurred.

“I need to move.”

A few more blinks as Erik's sleep-fogged mind processed, then Erik slid to the side with a groan.

Charles turned onto his back then reached down to re-position his legs.

Both of Erik's eyes were open now, watching Charles. “Hey, gorgeous.”

“I'm not gorgeous.”

“I disagree” Erik massaged his face with one long-fingered hand. “Waking up next to you is a treat.”

Charles had been thinking the same thing about Erik.

Erik scooted back over and kissed him. “Let's get some more sleep.” He draped his arm over Charles' chest, pillowed his head on his shoulder, and promptly fell asleep again

It took Charles a little longer to fall back asleep, but he lay there quietly, savoring the solid feel of Erik's body against his. A feeling he could easily get used to.

**~xXx~**

He woke again to a lightening sky. Erik remained pressed close, the warmth of his body a welcome contrast to the chilly winter air. The wan light was nevertheless enough to spark fiery highlights in Erik's auburn hair. His beard was a few shades brighter, a coppery red that almost glowed in the pale morning light.

His skin was redhead-fair, tawnier than Charles' own, and his freckles were finer and more evenly distributed. His lips were thin, though his mouth was wide, and those lips were the shade of the Mexican primroses in Charles' garden.

And Charles was just getting warmed up. The man was g-ddamned beautiful.

And he was as good as he was gorgeous. He protested no one could get along with him, and he did enjoy a spirited debate, but he was also gentle and considerate and the most giving lover Charles had ever had.

And he truly saw Charles for who he was. That continued to amaze him.

Charles pressed a kiss to Erik's forehead, was rewarded when those sleepy eyes opened. “Morning.”

“Already.”

“Time flies.”

“So are we having fun?”

The last two days had been like a dream. “Yes.”

Erik's smile grew sly. “Would you like to have more?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“This.” Erik's fingers went to Charles' left nipple, pinched it lightly.

Charles let out a soft hiss of pleasure. “Promising. Show me more.”

Erik stuck his head under the covers and sucked Charles' other nipple while those talented fingers continued to play with the first. Erik made gentle, unhurried love to Charles' nipples, his neck, his ears, his fingers, even the inside of one wrist, until Charles was trembling and desperate with need. He backed off a little every time he suspected Charles was about to come, kept him on that edge of madness and delight, writhing beneath his touch and begging for release.

Just when Charles was sure he'd been pushed beyond endurance, Erik nipped at his earlobe while raking his nails over Charles' nipples.

Charles came with a shout.

Erik grinned in delight.

Charles wrapped an arm around Erik's torso, pulled him down atop him.

“I'm too heavy,” Erik protested.

“Just for a minute.” He leaned up and distracted Erik with a kiss, and just when Charles was indeed beginning to think he couldn't breathe, Erik broke the kiss and rolled to the side.

Charles lay there unmoving, drifting in a post-coital haze next to the man he was already starting to love.

When his brain cells returned to something resembling functioning, he asked, “So what can I do for you this morning?”

“Make me breakfast,” Erik quipped.

“I've got some of Raven's pastries and some milk. No coffee, though.”

Erik mock-pouted. “Then how about another blow job to make up for it.”

“Scoot up.”

“I was kidding.”

“I'm not. Scoot up.”

Erik sat up. “It's cold in here,” he protested.

“Then let me warm you up.”

Erik leaned down and snagged the throw quilt draped across the foot of the bed, the one he used when he needed to make sure his legs stayed warm. Erik moved to the head of the bed, wrapping his upper body in the quilt.

“Let me get between your legs.”

Erik drew his left leg up, and Charles wriggled into position, his face winding up inches from Erik's cock. It really was impressive, long and cut and beautifully shaped.

Charles leaned down for a sample lick, heard Erik's gasp of surprise, felt Erik's cock jump beneath his tongue. Lovely. He kissed the head, felt Erik shiver. He took the head into his mouth, swirled his tongue around it, lapped at the slit.

Erik's hands tightened on the quilt.

Charles smiled around Erik's cock then got down to business.

Even though Charles' gag reflex wasn't easily triggered, Erik's sheer length tested it. Still, he was able to take most of it into his mouth. He tasted the salt of Erik's sweat, the earthiness of Erik's skin, the faint bitterness of precome.

Erik's back arched as he fought the urge to snap his hips upward and fuck Charles' mouth with abandon.

Charles employed every technique he'd learned over the years and a couple he invented on the spot, and in short order, Erik was gasping and groaning and swearing in a mixture of English and German. Charles redoubled his efforts, and then Erik was coming, hot and fast.

It was a point of pride that Charles swallowed everything Erik gave him.

Erik slumped back against the headboard,still muttering incoherently.

Charles laid his head on Erik's thigh and sighed contentedly. He could get used to this.


	7. Day Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a draft of this chapter done for ages, but I was in a bit of a writing funk and couldn't make myself type and revise it, but I finally got it done, and it seems to have broken me out of my funk...

Erik suspected he was falling in love. Yes, it had only been two days, but they had been absolutely fantastic days. Charles was funny and smart and kind, despite the horrors of his past, and he gave the most mind-blowing blow-jobs.

Charles still lay between Erik's legs, head pillowed on his thigh. His shaggy hair was sleep-rumpled, his blue eyes gazed up at Erik, and his crimson lips curled in a soft smile. “How was that for a wake-up call?” he asked, eyes shining softly.

Erik grinned. “Better than coffee.”

“High praise.” His gaze shifted to the window and the lightening skies, and he sighed. “Much as I'd like to stay in bed with you all morning, I can't.”

“Rain check?”

A slow grin spread across Charles' face. “Lucky me. There's a storm front moving in.” With a last lingering glance at Erik's quiescent cock, he pulled himself across the bed and into his chair. “This'll take me a bit. There's another bath down the hall if you need it.”

“I'd rather shower with you.”

Charles hesitated, covered it with a laugh. “Then I'll never get to work.” But Erik could read the sudden hints of unease.

“It's okay, Charles,” Erik said. “If there's some reason you're not comfortable doing that, I don't mind. You don't even have to explain.”

Charles looked relieved, and he offered Erik a gentle smile. “Thank you. I'm just not ready to share what my morning routine entails. Not yet.”

Erik smiled back. ”I won't push. You've shared so much already.” And he had. He'd bared his scars, bared his soul.

“Again, thank you.” He wheeled toward the master bath.

Erik watched him go, then rose and retrieved his backpack.

He took a quick shower, made a mental note to ask where Charles got the ginger-scented soap, dressed in his fresh clothes – jeans and a powder-blue henley his mom had given him. Then he headed for the kitchen in search of caffeine.

He knew he wouldn't find coffee, but he knew Charles drank tea, and the electric kettle on the counter was a positive sign. He rinsed it, filled it, plugged it in. Now he just had to figure out which cupboard held the actual tea.

“What the hell are you doing?” A woman's voice.

Erik turned to find a pretty blonde in the doorway, glaring at him, two sacks of bread dangling from the fingers of one hand. “You must be Raven,” he said.

She nodded, eyeing him warily. “And you must be my brother's latest fling.”

“Fling?”

“Charles has trouble with long-term relationships. Even when he tries, it always ends badly, and then I get to glue his heart back together.”

“So you're going to warn me off before he gets his heart broken.”

Her gaze was piercing. “Bingo.”

Erik held her gaze, unflinching. “I'm not going to hurt him. He's been hurt enough. You both have.”

Her brown eyes went wide as she absorbed the implications of his words. “You know,” she said, shocked, amazed.

Erik nodded.

“Charles never talks about that, not even with me, and I lived it with him.” She appraised Erik anew. “Maybe you are different, like he says.”

“I'd like to believe so.”

Raven considered for a long moment, then she nodded. “Okay. As long as we understand each other.”

“If I hurt him, you'll hurt me.”

“Not exactly. After my husband and my pastry chef finish mopping the floor with you and wringing you out to dry, I'll hurt what's left.”

“Fair enough. But I'm not going to hurt him.”

Her expression said she wanted to believe him. “So what do I call you, anyway?”

“Erik. Erik Lehnsherr.”

Her eyes widened. “So you really are E.M. Lehnsherr. I thought Charles was shitting me, that he just wanted to get me off his back.” 

“He wasn't.”

She was blushing now. “You're one of my husband's favorite writers. The only one that isn't dead or Russian. You aren't, are you?”

“Dead or Russian? Not last I checked.”

“Could I get you to sign a book?”

“On one condition.”

“Which is?” She eyed him warily.

“Tell me where Charles hides his tea.”

She laughed, crossed to a narrow cupboard near the refrigerator, pulled out a drawer. “Charles' favorite is Earl Grey. And my husband is Azazel. A-Z-A-Z-E-L.”

“Done,” Erik said, withdrawing the Earl Grey for Charles and some Irish Breakfast for himself. “Now where does he keep his cups?”

**~xXx~**

By the time Charles emerged, looking delectable in a crisp white shirt and navy slacks, Erik was on his third cup of tea and was just getting started on the Times crossword.

“You no-good, dirty thief,” Charles said, fighting a smile. “Unhand my puzzle.”

“Finders keepers,” Erik said, though he set the pencil down.

Charles laughed. “You can have it. Fridays give me a headache.”

“Then I'm glad I'm here to save you.”

“My hero.” Charles batted his eyes. Actually batted his eyes.

“The water's ready for your tea,” Erik said. “And your sister dropped off some bread.”

Worry clouded Charles' beautiful eyes. “I hope she wasn't too hard on you.”

“Just hard enough, I think. Clearly she loves you as much as you love her.”

“I'd die for her.”

Had nearly died for her already. “And she for you.”

Charles forced a smile. “Did she bring anything else?”

“Just the bread.”

“Then I'm afraid I don't have much to offer for breakfast. How do you feel about stopping somewhere on our way into town?”

“What do you have? Maybe I can pull something together.”

“A few pastries. A couple of eggs. The bread.”

“Any milk?”

“Yeah.”

“Butter?”

“I think so.”

“Then we can have french toast. Where's you skillet? And a mixing bowl.”

“Oven, and the cupboard to the right of the sink.”

Erik quickly located what he needed. “I don't suppose you have any herbs.”

“In the garden.” Charles sounded downright proud. “Out through the back door.”

Erik stepped out into the brisk morning air, seeing immediately why Charles was so proud. Brick flowerboxes filled with pansies and petunias and a host of other flowers in a riot of bright colors lined the back wall of the house, then out in the yard were two raised beds of winter (Arizona winter) vegetables and herbs. Among the veggies, Erik recognized broccoli, cauliflower, lettuce, spinach, and kale; among the herbs, parsley and dill and chives and thyme. He plucked a couple of sprigs of dill and a few stems of chives and stepped back inside.

Charles had his hands wrapped around a mug of tea, eyes closed, ruby lips curved into faint smile, looking wholly content.

“Earth to Charles,” Erik said softly, then as those sapphire eyes blinked open, he kissed Charles, slow and sweet.

Once Erik let him up for air, Charles murmured, “How did I get so lucky?”

“I'm the lucky one,” Erik replied as he went to the refrigerator to retrieve what he needed.

Charles watched as Erik chopped herbs, mixed eggs and milk, added salt and pepper. “You make that look so easy.”

“French toast _is_ easy,” Erik said as he dropped butter into the heating skillet. “I take it you never learned to cook.”

“I can cook eggs and toast and make a salad, but that's about it.”

“Then why do you grow so many vegetables?”

Charles laughed. “I like to garden, and Raven and Azazel take most of it off my hands.”

Erik swirled the butter in the pan, dipped two slices of rye, dropped them into the butter. “I guess I'll just have to teach you to cook.”

I''m pretty hopeless.”

“I'm a good teacher.” Erik kept his eyes on the toast, pancake turner in hand.

“How do you know when to flip it?”

Erik peeked under the toast's edge then flipped it. “Mostly it's about watching – when the outer part is set – but the smell also changes.”

Charles shook his head dubiously.

“I promise you can learn.” Erik flipped the first pieces of toast onto a plate, reached for more bread. “But for now, just get yourself over to the table. The food's almost ready.”

“Yes, mother.” Charles chuckled as he turned and headed toward the table.

**~xXx~**

Charles drove them back into the city, and Erik went home to spend some time with his fur monsters before returning to the bookstore. Pan roused from his nap long enough to regard Erik with sleepy green-gold eyes, and Artemis twined around his ankles until he took a seat on the couch, then she jumped up and scrambled into his lap. Marshmallow was nowhere to be seen, either out cold under the bed or sulking like the drama queen she was.

He skritched Artemis under her chin, and she purred and kneaded his thigh before curling up beside his hip. He stroked her head and neck, but he couldn't help but wish it was Charles cuddled up beside him. With a sigh he turned on SportsCenter and settled in.

He left his place about two, when Charles had said he'd make time for lunch. The air was chillier than it had been earlier and the wind was kicking up – a storm front was moving in off the Pacific, and it was supposed to rain most of the weekend. Rain, not snow, in January. God, he loved the desert.

Charles was waiting for him when he got to the store, looking entirely edible. His shirt was open at the collar, showing off his fair skin and a multitude of freckles, he'd rolled his shirt cuffs nearly to his elbows, displaying the lean strength of his forearms, and his silky dark hair flopped over his brow, lending a rakish boyishness to his face. His crimson lips curved into a smile, and he asked, “Ready for lunch?”

Erik brushed a kiss over those lips. “I'm hungrier for something else.”

Charles gave his chest a light smack. “Behave. There'll be time for that later.”

“Promises, promises.”

They went to the other end of the block to Raven's. Erik had been there a few times before he'd met Charles, and he knew the food rocked. He ordered a sandwich with chicken, avocado, and bacon, on multigrain bread; Charles, with roast beef, brie, and tomato, on olive bread. Azazel brought the sandwiches to their table and introduced himself. He was as fierce-looking as Charles had said, but quite a nice guy, especially once he stopped fawning over Erik.

At Charles' urging, Erik tried Charles' sandwich, then they wound up swapping halves. They talked and ate and laughed until Raven's pastry chef appeared with a cheesecake brownie on a plate and two forks. Logan seemed as unlikely a fit for that job as Erik had ever seen, tall, fearsomely muscular, and with an expression that suggested he ate nails for breakfast. But he was married to Ororo, he seemed genuinely fond of Charles, though he called him Chuck, and he was a crazy-good baker, so he couldn't be all bad.

They devoured the brownie, forks duelling over the last few bites, Erik pretending to pout when Charles snagged the final morsel. It disappeared into that sinful mouth, then Charles did something with his lips on the fork that had Erik's mouth going dry.

And then Charles sucked on the tines.

“Enough,” Erik growled.

Charles grinned. “Enough is never enough.”

“It is if you don't want me to have my way with you on this table.”

Charles appeared to consider it for a moment, then he laughed and said, “I wouldn't mind, but it would probably scar Raven for life.”

Erik rose, circled the table, cupped Charles' head in his hands, and planted a blistering kiss on his plush lips. When he finally drew back, Erik said, “Don't tease the animals, Charles.”

“If I stroke you, will you purr?”

“You'll have to wait 'til tonight to find out.”

Charles pretended to pout. “It had better be worth the wait.”

“It will be.” Erik glanced at his watch. “But for now, we'd both better pretend that we have jobs to do.”

“Indeed.”

**~xXx~**

They went back to his place when Armando shooed them out an hour before closing. Charles left his car as he had the first night, and they covered the three blocks quickly, both eager to get out of the chill wind that had arrived ahead of the storm. And maybe it was their added speed that led Erik to notice something he'd missed before, just how difficult the side streets were for Charles to navigate. There were no sidewalks, and the asphalt was cracked and crumbling, forcing Charles to dodge around potholes and power his way through the deeper cracks.

It was starting to sprinkle by the time they reached his door, and Erik drank in the warmth as he stepped inside. They ordered pizza, and after it arrived, they settled on the couch together and found a movie to watch. They ate in comparative silence, each impatient to feed a different sort of hunger, and after the pizza was gone, they spent a while making out.

Until Charles' back became an issue, the pain growing past the point where he could ignore it. He started to mumble an apology, but Erik cut him off. “Don't, Charles. You never have to apologize to me for being in pain. Lie down on the couch and I'll rub your back while we finish the movie.”

Charles got himself arranged on the couch, head pillowed on Erik's thigh, and Erik got to work. Charles drifted off before the end of the movie, but Erik continued his gentle massage. He hated the necessity of it, hated seeing Charles in such pain, wished there was a more permanent solution, yet at the same time, this nightly ritual just seemed _right_.

Even the cats seemed to have accepted Charles' presence in his life. Pan snoozed contentedly on the back of the recliner, utterly unconcerned. Artemis had been bold enough to come curl up beside Charles' ankles. And even Marshmallow had deigned to come out of the bedroom and stake out the recliner's seat, though she continued to watch Charles warily through one slitted yellow-green eye.

Erik woke to a tv gone to infomercials, squinted at the clock. Almost two. Charles still slept peacefully with his head on Erik's thigh. Erik hated to wake him, but he knew Charles would need to move.

He shook Charles' shoulder.

Those sapphire eyes blinked open, sleep-hazed.

“We fell asleep on the couch. It's nearly two, and I know you need to move.”

Charles sighed. “I do. And I'm thinking your bed will be even more comfortable than this couch.”

“I like the way you think.”

Charles maneuvered into a sitting position, then transferred into his chair. “I just need to make a pit stop first.”

“I'll get the bed ready.”

He watched Charles squeeze through the bathroom doorway, reminded again that this house really wasn't very wheelchair-friendly, then he went into the bedroom. Pan was sacked out in his favorite spot in the middle of the bed, but he wisely fled when Erik started turning back the covers.

He'd shed his shoes and socks and was just starting to pull off his shirt when he heard Charles curse, soft but intense, followed by a few more assorted curses of ascending volume, capped off by a heartfelt, “Fuck.”

“Are you all right?”

“Fine.” He sounded okay, just irritated. “Would you happen to have some paper towels?”

Erik went to the kitchen, returned with the roll of paper towels, entered the bathroom. Charles' chair was wedged in close to the toilet, and Charles was reaching back but not looking at Erik. “This is incredibly embarrassing,” he said.

As Erik stepped closer, he understood what had happened. Charles' fly was open, a tube was sticking out of his dick, and there was a small puddle on the floor.

“I'm so sorry,” Charles said. “I'm afraid I misjudged.”

“No problem,” Erik said. “Just move back and I'll get it.”

“I made the mess.”

“And I'm perfectly willing to clean it up.”

Charles shoulders were tensed as if he was going to argue, but finally they slumped and he said, “Fine.”

Charles pulled the tube from his cock and tossed it in the trash, then he backed up, washed his hands, and exited.

When Erik returned to the bedroom, Charles was still in his chair, fly still open, looking pensive. “I really am sorry, Erik.”

“For what? I don't know a man alive who doesn't occasionally miss the target.” Erik kept his tone light.

Charles almost smiled. “I suppose I just wanted to spare you some of the gorier details of my life for a bit yet.”

“Afraid you were going to scare me off?” More serious now.

Charles looked away.

Erik went to him, cradled his jaw in his hands. “Don't be. I'm not going anywhere.” Then Erik kissed him, slow and sweet and filthy as hell.

When they came up for air, Charles was smiling softly. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Plenty, I hope. Let's go to bed.” But as he straightened, he realized one thing about what had happened did bother him. “Would it be better if we spent the nights at your place?”

Charles considered, said, “Easier, yes, but not necessarily better. And not at all fair to you. Or your fur faces. I can manage.”

“You shouldn't have to 'manage'.”

Charles sighed. “Most of the world wasn't designed with me in mind. I can deal.”

Erik took Charles' hands in his own. They were strong, Capable. Beautiful. “I still hate that you have to.”

“Sometimes so do I,” Charles admitted. “But there is a solution to our current problem.”

“Which would be?”

“Move in with me.”

Erik hadn't expected that. Not now. Not yet.

“I know it's crazy. I know we just met. But we have this crazy connection, and I already know I can see myself spending the rest of my life with you.”

Erik knew it, too. “Then I'm as crazy as you are.”

“So yes?”

“Yes.” Erik kissed him, just a gentle brushing of lips. “Yes, I'll move in with you. Yes, I'm falling in love with you. Yes, I can see spending the rest of my life with you.” Erik threw his arms around Charles, held him tight.

“So when do you want to move in?”

“Monday?”

“I thought we had a date at the desert museum Monday.”

“Then Tuesday.”

“Tuesday it is. Remind me to have another key made.”

“Done.” Erik trailed kisses along Charles' jawline, then murmured in his ear. “Let's go to bed.”


End file.
